


Teo Torriatte

by Endriya



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Non-Binary Emperor, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endriya/pseuds/Endriya
Summary: 'Let us cling together as the years go byOh my love, my loveIn the quiet of the nightLet our candle always burnLet us never loseThe lessons we have learnt'A wretched thing, to say goodbye.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Teo Torriatte

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I've had this fic idea for quite a while now, but I've only just got around to finishing, so, here it is. 
> 
> The song that is quoted in the summary, and that this fic is inspired by, is called Teo Torriatte (Let Us Cling Together), by Queen, an amazing band. I think the song is great too.

The Emperor of Mankind had traded countless human lives through the years without a second thought, and would do so again countless times over if They felt it necessary. Among so many souls adrift in the no-time and no-space of the Warp, They held only one precious to Them, only one truly indispensable. There was only one sacrifice that They would not make.  
And only one sacrifice that They had to.  
They only ever had one soft spot; only one being had ever caught and held the positive regard of all of Their conglomerate factions at once, and only one had ever taken the time to understand Them, only one had ever been worth saving individually.  
They could not save him. Not now. Not after all that had been said and all that had been done. Not after Horus, and not after Magnus. Even these losses, although They felt They should, They could not mourn. These beings They had loved in a way, yes, but never _loved_.  
Not as They loved him.  
What was the loss of the favoured son and the sorcerer of Prospero compared to this aching loss? What was the loss of any of Their sons, of any of the myriad tools They used for Their ends? To Them, nothing.  
Through the years, They had sacrificed so many souls but now, at the end of it all, why did They have to give this one?  
Why did it have to be him?  
Involuntarily, Their memories resurfaced of when They had first met him, deep in the hollow Himalazians and across the chem-scorched plains of the contemporary Terra. They remembered when They had first known him, and known simultaneously what it was to stare into the soul of a monster behind the deceptive eyes of a man. They remembered time spent in understanding, and that not all monsters were incapable of good.  
Monsters could become men.  
The worst of monsters could become the best of men, and he had, the very best, Their loyalest, Their most beloved companion. What he was and who he became. Who he would be no more.  
He had been beautiful; he still was, although haunted now by the tangible weight of what had to be upon his shoulders as he stood there, so close yet so far, so out of Their reach forever, now. He wore upon him the desperate agony of a man who had had so long to come to terms with his fate and had still never quite managed, a maddening frustration that They shared, a panging regret that of all the people They could save, They could not save this most precious of men.  
They could not save him.  
Time meant nothing to Them, but what was designated linearly as the future was, for the first time, black and empty, devoid of him, of love and cherishment, of hope that there might be something better in store for the two of them, together. As they should be. Always together.  
Not now.  
The future was black and empty, yet through all time shone a light, a candle in the tumultuous quiet of the night so bright as to blind even Them with the harrowing truth of its rays as They gazed upon the infinite and saw the end. They saw his last, triumphant stand against the forces that had won. They saw the bright burning beacon of Their most treasured friend's final sacrifice as it blazed through the Immaterium, a last testament to the fact that Brahm al-Khadour was a good man.  
He was a good man.  
But now, in an instant, it was done. They could see the fleeting rictus of his frail body, feel the sudden loss of his precious life, taste the acrid scent as his fragile flesh succumbed to flame, and now, in an instant, Malcador the Sigillite was no more. Dead already.  
_Oh, my love, my love._  
Not you as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it, or if you didn't 'enjoy it' as such (which hopefully means I've written it well), at least thought it was good.  
> As always, I'd love to hear any comments you may have.


End file.
